


Proving Him Wrong

by MaybeSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Consensual Touching, Eventual Sex, F/M, First Time, ILY, Loss of Virginity, Non-Consensual Touching, Sherlock Whump, Sherlolly - Freeform, Swaplock, Tortured Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22187188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeSherlock/pseuds/MaybeSherlock
Summary: Jim Moriarty and Eurus Hooper disagreed on what Sherlock Holmes was to Molly Hooper, Consulting Detective. Now with Moriarty effectively out of The Game, Eurus ventures out of Sherringford to conduct an experiment to prove Moriarty wrong.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 21
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still feeling new to this whole writing game, so any feedback is welcome!

Molly Hooper had been the primary subject of Sherlock Holmes's mind for years. From the very first time Mike introduced Sherlock to the "Consulting Detective, Molly Hooper," he was smitten. She was different, unconventional, and uniquely remarkable in Sherlock's eyes. And like every morning on his way to St. Bart's, Sherlock's mind dwelled on Molly Hooper. 

Molly wore tall designer black boots, the button down shirts she wore were pressed, tucked in neatly to her skin tight leggings, and the top two buttons were left undone so every now and then, Sherlock would get to see the shadow of her pale chest when she leaned over his best microscope or when she made for a case file that was just out of reach. The dark suit jackets she rarely removed were professionally tailored to fit her figure with the most flattering shape. Her hips were narrow, but the trained muscles of her bottom swayed in an intoxicatingly calculated motion when she walked; her chest was perhaps smaller than most and always practically supported but no less shapely, and her hair: long and brown, her curls looked soft and naturally organized and Sherlock longed to run his fingers through them. 

But she had been quite clear where she stood on relationships, nothing mattered but the work. Sentiment gushed from him with their every interaction...and she saw it as weakness, using it to manipulate him to get what she wanted. Like when she complimented his new glasses, and said how well they suited him, and that he should wear them more often--for access to the lab. For of course, Molly knew Sherlock had tried contacts because he thought Molly saw his glasses as a flaw. She deduced his thoughts before he could even stutter into a flattered "Y-yes." And Sherlock then remembered the horrible Christmas present Molly described as "desperate" and "intended well enough, but sadly futile."

He walked into the lab, and shook his head to rid himself of those embarrassing memories and forced himself to remember the few happy ones. The times she used his flat as a bolthole and had the tea made in the morning with a note of thanks. Written in her fine handwriting on a napkin, she signed with "-Molly," not "-MH" like she did in her curt text messages. Sherlock kept all three of them in his bedside stand. The time she came to him with the horrible task of helping her fake her death and told him all she needed was--him. Sherlock later came to find out that it was to save the three people she cared for most: John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson--not him. 

Not him, she would never go for a guy like him: a modest pathologist that wore jeans and knitted vests to work, a quiet man that sees the world through idealistic and forgiving eyes. Sherlock was ordinary and seemingly predictable. Even when Sherlock had a private moment with her flatmate, John, to ask him nonchalantly if he had a chance, John replied with a hint of pity, "I wouldn't waste your time, mate. Molly is married to her work, I've never even seen her take interest in a man--or woman." John companionably patted Sherlock's back. 

Sherlock sighed and rolled up his sleeves to begin on his first case for the day: Smith, Mortimer, 58 years old, motor vehicle accident--victim of a drunk driver. Becoming more focused on his work and less on when may be the next time he will get to see Molly, Sherlock was unaware when a woman approached him from behind. 

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"I told Moriarty that Molly cared deeply for you," the woman's loud and unusual voice echoed in the lab and Sherlock was so startled, he almost fell to the floor. "But he insisted you were nothing to Molly but a tool to be used," the woman said and cocked her head in a strange and mechanical way. "Shame he won't be here to see me prove him wrong."

Facing the woman, but still gripping the metal table behind his back for support, Sherlock stammered, failing to hide an edge of panic in his voice, "Who-who the hell are you?"

"I am your beloved's dear sister, Eurus Hooper," she said. "I became bored at the facility Mycroft was keeping me in, and decided to come out and play deductions." The woman stood only inches from him and he looked into her blue-green eyes, they were Molly's only they had the dead pan stare of a shark's eye. Sherlock glanced quickly at the scalpel that lay inches from his hand, but before he could even think of what he would do with it, Eurus Hooper grabbed Sherlock's throat and in the same motion, jabbed a long needle into the side of his neck and depressed the plunger, injecting the full syringe. 

Sherlock felt the sting and the immediate effect of the sedative. "...No!" he choked and his knees gave out, but Eurus crushed his neck now with both hands, holding him up as his body was collapsing. "Let's find out just what it is about you that made my sister feel all those tender little emotions," Eurus whispered in front of his face as Sherlock's frightened and confused grey eyes lost consciousness.

Eurus threw Sherlock's limp body to the floor, unconcerned by the dull thud his head made when it contacted the hard linoleum. "Pick him up! Let's move," Eurus commanded and two men appeared from behind the door frame to follow her order. Looking over her shoulder and smiling sinisterly at the gash above Sherlock's eye and his blood shining darkly against the pale floor, Eurus said, "She will be here in eight minutes and I want the evidence to be fresh."

Eurus placed a folded piece of paper in Mr. Smith's mouth and led the men out of the frigid morgue. <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kudos and comments!
> 
> At first I assumed I was just writing this story for myself, but now I know there is at least a few out there that enjoy this kind of story line. Let me know what you think as it continues: I hadn't anticipated it going on for more than a few chapters at first, so we'll find out together how it plays out!

"Moriarty said he would burn the heart out of you, I've come to deliver.  
Don't waste time now, sister-mine, he will be waiting for you."

Molly read the note and furiously handed it to John as she took out her mobile. Mycroft Hooper picked up after the first ring. "Just what kind of game do you think you are playing at, Mycroft!?" Molly bellowed at her brother. Holding the phone out at arm's length, Mycroft was still able to make out what his sister was shouting. The black government limousine made a hasty stop in front of St. Bart's and Mycroft retuned the phone to his ear, bracing with his other hand. 

"I take it you have also received a note..." Mycroft said with resignation. The cold sound of Mycroft's expensive shoes walking across the empty lab caused Molly and John to look up from the note in John's hand. Molly crossed the lab with agile speed, grabbed Mycroft's arm, twisted, and pressed his face against a metal cabinet. 

"What have you done to him?" Molly hissed into Mycroft's ear. 

Unable to help himself, Mycroft replied sourly over his shoulder, "Well, it seems Eurus was right, you have succumb to sentiment." Molly roughly spun Mycroft around to face her and she held him with silent anger. Mycroft slowly moved his hand to retrieve a small piece of paper from his breast pocket and held it up to her face between two long fingers.

Molly snatched it from him and read in the same scratched handwriting on the same type of stationary:

"Moriarty didn't see it, but perhaps you have, brother dear. Our Molly has fallen in love, shall we execute an experiment to help her realize it? --Your darling sister, Eurus Hooper/p>

Molly finished reading first and looked up to Mycroft, startled. "I have a sister!?"

"You're in love?" John blurted out at the same time.

Mycroft straightened his suit jacket with a testy tug, "We do, and she is the most dangerous client you and Molly will ever have." Although he was indignant at being handled with such rudeness, Mycroft cleared his throat finished, "So where has Eurus taken Sherlock, Molly? I believe it would be in your pathologist's best interest that we should agree to her intimation for haste. We can discuss family relations later."

Molly glared daggers in to her brother's eyes, but understood there was no time now to get into the family tree and how a limb was so easily deleted from her memory.

"Fine," Molly said in a low voice and placed the two notes side-by-side on Sherlock's tidy work table. Molly appreciated Sherlock's particulars when it came to keeping his lab clean. His care and detail for the profession was admirable and Molly found his overly simplified rationale to be helpful when she incorporated him into the investigations of her cases. Molly would never admit it to Mycroft or even herself, but she found herself in his presence more and more, unconsciously seeking the calming effect his proximity was starting to contrive insider her intelligent mind. 

John however, felt the stunned awareness of the truth, and now with Sherlock's life in the balance, he realized just how far Molly had fallen: all the experiments she could have easily completed at Baker Street, but she insisted on doing in Sherlock's lab, keeping him late into the night; her willingness to take on cases--even ones as low as threes and fours--if it brought them into see Sherlock; even the casually proffered lunch date of chips and their company, John saw now for what it really was. 

John moved to stand close to Molly, reading and re-reading them in her Mind Palace, tactfully not mentioning the other elephant in the room. He put his arm around her lean shoulders and held her reassuringly. 

Apparently, Molly had had enough of brotherly condescension from Mycroft that John's gesture angered her even more now her feelings were apparent to everyone. "Enough!" Molly yelled and turned her back to John and Mycroft, she pressed her fingers hard to her temple and thought furiously through all her encounters with Moriarty. 

"--The pool! Bristol South Swimming Pool!" Molly called out. "That is where Moriarty said he would 'burn the heart out of me.'" Molly said and threw up mock quotation marks. "We must leave now, he could be halfway there already. They could only have left..." Molly bent to the floor and placed a finger in Sherlock's congealed blood, feeling a new source of rage within her at the sight of Sherlock's blood, "--twenty minutes ago."

After the pool had folded however, it was sold to the state with the intention of filling the pool and turning it into a maintenance warehouse. Money and support in the council however, ran short after the cement was poured and a roof was constructed: funding was re-directed and the building left abandoned. 

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Sherlock groaned but remained unconscious when Eurus's men drug his body out of the boot and onto the unkept gravel parking lot. "You," Eurus pointed at one of the men, "take him inside. And you," she pointed to the other, "go and get the straps and chains for the pulley. I want him secured before he wakes up." The sun was fading behind dark and encroaching clouds and raindrops fell in ernest. Eurus left them to their tasks and went inside. 

Sherlock came too when he felt his body being roughly pulled across the sharp rocks of the muddy ground, but despite his foggy awareness, the remaining sedative in his system prevented his body from protesting. His vest caught on a wayward broken root and it tore through the thin material and raked across Sherlock's torso. Sherlock managed a weak, "A-ahh..." when he felt the jagged root as it shorn through the shirt he wore underneath and tear open the skin across his back. The gruff man tugged harder on Sherlock's ankle at the hold up and continued into the building.

A large and expensive rug 24x14 feet was placed in the center of the room, covering rusty nails and loose construction garbage. A fine and elaborate velvet chair was just off center and a shaded, but bright light sat on a simple side table next to the chair. The corners of the room were growing dark as the storm settled over the area and clouded the tall, drafty windows. Inn the center of the rug Sherlock was dropped prone and immobile, he stared at the rain above trying desperately to gather his thoughts, but before he could even orient to himself, a man came into view and stood over him. Sherlock blinked hard and attempted to adjust his focus but found his glasses were not on his face. 

Surprising himself, and the hired man, Sherlock groaned and rolled to his side, reaching out a hand to blindly grope his surrounding area for his glasses. A heavy boot stomped down on Sherlock's hand and he yelled out in pain, but the man only shifted more of his weight onto Sherlock's hand and said over Sherlock's weak protest, "I have them here, lover boy." The man slapped Sherlock's face crudely with each "lover" and "boy." The sting of contact burned on Sherlock's cheeks and his brain rung as them man's large hand clapped on his face and over his ear. Sherlock laboriously moved his hands to cup his throbbing head, but a sudden fist was thrust into his abdomen. 

"Don't fuckin' let him move, I need to get the damn straps 'round his wrists before she gets back!" a man barked above Sherlock and kicked his hip so Sherlock was forced from the fetal position onto his back, making it difficult for him to catch his breath after the blow to his diaphragm. 

"Just get on with it," the first man said and roughly placed Sherlock's glasses onto his dirty face and duck taped his gasping mouth. "I give it fifteen minutes before they get here and she wants time to size him up," here he painfully prodded Sherlock in the ribs with his steel toed boot and smiled with yellow teeth. 

"Remove those soiled cloths off my rug!" Eurus's angry voice echoed through warehouse and Sherlock was quickly stripped of his muddy shirt and vest. As Sherlock was drug across the muck outside by his ankles, his pants were left surprisingly clean, and therefore left unmolested by the dull knives that cut off his other clothes. Mud was drying in his hair and along his neck and it too soiled the rug as his body was manhandled out of the shredded fabric. 

Calloused hands yanked Sherlock's arms above his head and bound them tightly with a hard leather strap. His head was becoming more clear and his situation came into sharp and frightening focus. Sherlock now saw the woman, Eurus, standing above his defenseless form. He tried to gasp as he remembered what had happened earlier in the lab--what was said, the matching colors of this mad woman's eyes and Molly's--but the duck tape silenced his efforts. Molly's enemies were not the layman's kind of enemies: they were professional criminals, evil, experienced...and standing above him giving the command to "Raise him, I want to see him upright." The dangerous reality of his situation caused Sherlock's heart to thunder inside his chest.

The low, rumbling sound of a large machine hummed and Sherlock's hands began to rise, pulling his body up to stand. He panted deeply through his nose and was able to stave off the hypotensive dizziness he experienced from being so abruptly vertical.

Eurus prowled languorous circles around Sherlock, coming up close to his face and body to examining every detail of his features. Sherlock rather felt like a stock animal being examined by a potential buyer, and finally after her third pass, he had enough of the silent scrutiny.

"Mhh-amm whmm...hum!?" Sherlock muffled behind the tape and tried to stand steady when she stopped inches in front of his face. 

"What do I want?" Eurus repeated back Sherlock's question. "I want to know her limits, how far the complex and conflicting emotions have hijacked my sister away from her intellect."

"Hmm-mmmr?" Sherlock mumbled, shocked--and a little proud of himself-- that his observation of the similarity of Eurus and Molly's eyes was actually what he had guessed: this woman was Molly's sister. 

"How tortuously slow, the thought process of your brain! Well, perhaps this experiment will be a lesson for you too." Eurus impatiently turned her back on him, "Why is it the blatant and obvious truth stares them in the face, and they stand there with blank, ignorant expressions!?" Eurus yelled rhetorically and stormed over to sit stoically in the red chair. She pushed a large button on the control mechanism and Sherlock's feet left the ground. 

The leather squeaked when Sherlock's full weight pulled on the material and he wished he had a mind palace like Molly: she would recognize the knot and have herself out within seconds. Sherlock wriggled and pulled on the leather straps, but without leverage, his efforts quickly tired and sheen of cold sweat now chilled his body. Sherlock's intentions of escaping his bonds changed rapidly when he looked back down and realized just how high up he was. "Shit, they better hold now!" he thought desperately, forty feet above the ground. 

Already the muscles in Sherlock's arms and shoulders were protesting the flexed tension required to keep his shoulders in their sockets, and he felt nausea churn the bile up to his throat as he swung in small circles high above the ground. Having done several postmortems on bodies of people who had died due to asphyxiating on their own vomit, Sherlock looked up quickly for something stable on which he could focus. Through the lofty and dingy factory windows, Sherlock stared hard at the surrounding trees blurred by the downpour and thought of his reading chair, and how lovely it would have been to enjoy some hot tea and a good book at home while the storm settled over the city.


	3. Chapter 3

"Quiet, John," Molly said flatly above the sound of the car whirring with the RPMs, the wailing siren, and John's loud thoughts about her feelings for Sherlock. 

"I din't say anything," John said defensively, putting up his hands. 

"Silence!" Mycroft snapped and Molly and John both turned and looked out opposite windows, John smiling with the side of his mouth at her indignation and begrudged obedience. "I will need to contact my people. It's likely they do not know she is out, that means we have to keep Eurus distracted in order to keep Dr. Holmes alive until my team arrives. Given that this is a hostage situation, it will be at least an hour before the team will make their move."

Molly snapped her neck over to look at Mycroft intensely, but he saw the worry behind her eyes. "You heard me right, Molly," Mycroft said and added with disgust, "She does not play long at her experiments, or rather the subjects do not last long once her interest has faded."

"And Sherlock is one of her test subjects, is he not!?" Molly asked accusingly. "He is not an experiment, Mycroft!"

Mycroft put up hand for silence and pressed two buttons on his cell phone and said as he waited for the line to be answered, "Eurus does not understand emotions pertaining to love, Molly, her brain will never work that way...but that is not stopping her from experimenting on why your's does--This is Mycroft Hooper, get me Lady Smallwood, we have an issue."

Molly leaned forward and shook her hands through her curls in frustration. This time, when John put his hand on her shoulder, she did not brush off his kindness. "How long, mate?" he asked quietly.

"Since before Reichenbach," Molly said with a dejected sigh and thinking to herself, "I see now that it was even before you, John." He lightly squeezed her shoulder and she continued to speak to the floor, "I've never sought out emotions or sentiment...Mycroft always said it was for the losing side." It was Molly who now sounded defensive, "I had to fight it--refuse him...so I could protect him from my enemies. I have enough trouble keeping up with you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson." Molly finished with exacerbation. "I failed John; I thought I had everyone fooled! I missed something and this insane woman has seen right through me!"

John looked at his friend and his heart broke for her lifetime of self-inflicted isolation. And it was all for what? The work? No quite an even trade in John's opinion, but he had learned from experience that subjects like love, intimacy, and feelings were not open for discussion.

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"It will be best if we all go in unarmed," Mycroft said when John removed his gun from the discrete shoulder harness under his jacket. "She knows I detest violence and will approach with reason," Mycroft said with a queer calm. "I do not think it advantageous to contradict her plan so early on, the annoyance of it may cause her to unhinge and destroy the experiment...I have seen her do it before and I do not intend for any one of us to meet that end." The sound of heavy rainfall on the roof of the car punctuated the sentence like the impending footfalls of an approaching army, ten thousand strong. 

Before they all exited the car, Mycroft gripped Molly's arm. "It's you she had targeted, Molly," he said seriously, "Allow her to do the talking, say as little as possible--however hard that may be!" Mycroft checked his watch, "We must go, she knows we are here and Sherlock will pay for our tardiness."

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Eurus sat at her leisure and watched John, Molly, and Mycroft approach. She felt no kindred affection at seeing her sister in person for the first time in decades. 

"Stop," Eurus commanded just before their feet touched the rug, "Sit down." Three men set simple wooden chairs behind Mycroft, John, and Molly. The men sat down, but Molly kept walking. She stopped, almost in the center of the rug, when one of Eurus's particularly vicious looking men came out from the perimeter of light and stood next to Eurus's chair. 

When Sherlock saw the dark figures of Molly, John, and Mycroft walking up to Eurus, he tried desperately to call out, to grunt loud enough that they might understand his warning, but the cacophony of rain on the roof drowned out any sound that may have reached them. 

"Hello, sister," Molly said without affection and put her hands behind her back in a condescending pose. "Aren't we a bit old to be playing games?" 

"This is for my own research," Eurus retorted. "I am curious to learn why my brain was able to avoid the weakness of soft emotions, but your's did not."

"Then let Sherlock go, and I can help you understand," Molly said mocking Eurus's shortcoming.

"Oh, I don't think you want me to do that," Eurus said with an enticing inclination in her voice.

Sherlock knew they must be talking, but as the steady rain continued, he was unable to hear a word of it. He leaned his head as far forward as he could and turned to listen harder. A bead of sweat slid over the dark strands of Sherlock's hair and he watched it fall and disappear into the light below. He had resolved himself between holding himself up against pull and weight of his body, and relieving the exhausted tension in his muscles to recover until the strain in his shoulder joints became too much and he was force to hold his weight once more. 

Molly surmised it in seconds and when she looked up, the drops of moisture she had wrongly attributed to a poorly constructed roof hit her face and she could taste the unmistakable saltiness of human sweat. She understood now the mistake in her deduction as her and Sherlock's eyes met.

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Eurus pushed the decent button and the loud rumble of the machine engaged. She studied Molly's stoic face as she watched Sherlock's body come closer and more fully in view. "Tell to me what feelings your are experiencing," Eurus instructed, but when Molly did not immediately respond, Eurus let go of the button and Sherlock's body stopped twenty feet above the ground. Molly could now hear Sherlock's grunts of effort and attempts to speak between sharp and winded gasps for air. 

This could be good, if Molly could continue not following instructions, she just may be able to keep Eurus talking rather than conducting her experiment. Yet, Sherlock's pained groans and desperate eyes showed her just what the consequences would be for noncompliance. 

"I was not anticipating on having to train you, Molly," Eurus said irritably.

When Sherlock's body began to ascend, Molly called out, "Anger! Damnit! Anger!" Sherlock's body stopped, and once again was lowered. Eurus noted to herself Molly's undisciplined release of emotion and that this "anger-emotion associated with Sherlock's pain" must be new to Molly as she has demonstrated her inexperience at having it tried. 

Eurus cocked an eyebrows at her and Molly pressed herself to continue without revealing too much of her most hidden and intimate feelings: worry, concern for Sherlock, and blame for the situation he was in now. "Annoyance," Molly deflected and glared at Mycroft, "and monster," looking to Eurus. 

The toes of Sherlock's leather derby shoes were grazing the carpet, but he was stopped millimeters short of being able to support himself on the ground. Molly rushed to help Sherlock, but Eurus's man pulled her off of him just as her arms reached his body. Molly countered with a reflexive jab to the man's ribs but was unable to dodge his back hand and it struck her hard across the face, knocking her back. He turned to Sherlock and punched him in the face for good measure. 

Sherlock's teeth tore through the tender flesh on the inside of his cheek and blood instantly filled his mouth. The metallic taste overwhelmed his taste buds and he could do nothing but swallow it down. He was however, thankful the hired thug chose to hit him in the mouth rather than the nose: if it were his sinuses instead of his mouth that was filling with blood, Sherlock's already difficult breathing would surly have been obstructed. 

John and Mycroft stood up aggressively but before they could move, Eurus yelled, "Enough! And sit down, you two are not variables in this experiment!" Behind him, John heard three pairs of feet approach the empty chairs. Mycroft sat, but John advanced slowly with his hands out and said, "I am a doctor, he needs my attention." Looking at the flexing muscles of Sherlock's rib cage and seeing his chest rise with the effort of his strained and contracting diaphragm, John gestured pleadingly, "He can hardly catch his breath!" 

Bruising hands seized John's arms and wrenched them behind his back, and Eurus engaged the engine to rise Sherlock higher. 

"For gods's sake, John! Sit down!" Molly yelled wiping at her split lip. John grudgingly allowed himself to be forced down into the chair, for he too now understood the methodology of the experiment. 

Sherlock dropped his head back with dejected hope of finally being lowered and panted with what was left of his dwindling strength. He closed his eyes to the encroaching darkness and thought dispiritedly, "What an unfortunate thing for this woman to ask Molly. She has no feelings when it comes to me..."


	4. Chapter 4

They all watched as Sherlock's body went limp and his head fell back. "Molly!" John said urgently, "He won't be able to breathe with his neck like that! Quick, tell her--"

"Pain!" Molly yelled at Eurus and Sherlock's body started its descent. "Guilt!" Molly paused as long as she dare, "Hatred!" She could hear Sherlock's unconscious and ineffectual puffs of breath grate through the tension in his trachea. "Fear..." Molly watched his dirty, pale face drift eerily before her. His glasses were askew, dried mud clung to his damp hair, and the sheen of the duck tape over his mouth caught the glare of the lamp. He was almost down and Molly pushed herself to continue. 

"Regret," Sherlock's feet could now touch the ground but his legs were useless to support his body. "Love."

The machine stopped. "No!" Molly pleaded and moved closer to Sherlock. "Eurus, please. You got your results!" 

"Just as I hypothesized," Eurus said with waning interest and she stood from her chair and circled the two. "Do what you must. He will have to be conscious for the final variable." 

Molly rushed to Sherlock and cradled his head and torso forward but his arms were still pulled straight above him. If she could get him to wake up, Sherlock was low enough now he would be able to stand. Gripping a corner of the tape over Sherlock's mouth she tore it off, heedless of the pain it would cause him.

Sherlock gasped sharply as his body was ripped into breathlessness. "Sherlock..." Molly whispered, though they all heard the quiver in her voice. "Come on, that's it," she coaxed as his breath came in more ragged, albeit deeper pants. She saw the life behind his grey eyes when he was finally able to open them, and Molly let out a quiet sob of relief. Molly straightened his glasses used her thumb to wipe the blood off of Sherlock's lips. 

John watched helplessly as Molly was torn apart. Never had he witnessed such a brutal confession, and it came from the raw heart of his best friend. Pointless years of denial reflected in Sherlock and Molly's eyes and they all knew now that i the words she said were true, everyone except for Sherlock who had not heard Molly's disclosure. 

Eurus observed Sherlock's eyes dilate when he looked at Molly, and wondered how this man still experienced attraction for the woman responsible for his condition. "If he is still feeling sexual attraction...Can he still be feeling the emotion, love, for her? Are they synonymous or they mutually exclusive?" Eurus thought to herself and altered the experiment.

"Make him say it," Eurus said moving to position herself behind Sherlock and his field of view. Molly looked up and saw Eurus holding a gun to the back of Sherlock's head. Molly balked and pulled Sherlock's weak body closer to her when Eurus leaned over him and whispered into her ear, "If it's true anyway, then why not say it, sister?"

Eurus resumed her executioner's pose and inclined her head for Molly to continue. 

"What's going on, Molly?" Sherlock asked in a raspy, almost inaudible whisper. He was making an attempt to right his feet under himself but Molly would not let him go.

"Sherlock," Molly said softly and he paused in his attempts at the tenderness in her voice,"I need you to know that you've always counted." Sherlock furled his brow in confusion at the tone of her voice and topic of conversation given the jeopardy they were in. Molly was unsure of where to go with her approach and changed tactics. "If-If I wasn't everything you think I am, everything I think I am. Would you still feel the same about me?"

Eurus cocked the gun impatiently at the silence. 

"Im not okay," Molly quickly said the first words she could think of. 

Confused, and now questioning the real reason why they were all here, Sherlock tried once again to make sense. "Molly?" Sherlock said and looked around and saw John and Mycroft, Molly's brother, sitting in the shadows as though a theater audience watching the main act. When Sherlock looked back to Molly, her brilliant aqua-marine eyes were in intense and urgent.

"Tell me you love me, Sherlock," Molly said and the words felt foreign on her lips.

This time, Sherlock was able to get his feet under his body and he stood, pulling from her arms. His head spun and he stumbled a few feet back. Sherlock's hands hung at chest level, throbbing and tingling painfully as blood was pumped into them for the first time in an hour. Eurus discreetly maintained her position behind Sherlock, never lowering the gun. 

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock said, doubt and worry written all over his face. Inside, he was panicking. Why was she making fun of him when there was a mad woman, no doubt coming any minute to murder them. How could Molly do this now, after all this time she has of course known Sherlock is and has always been in love with her. Now she demands to hear it!? Anger and betrayal shone in Sherlock's eyes when he said, "Don't do this...just, don't."

Molly knew she was pushing for time when Eurus tapped her hand as if pointing to a wristwatch. "Please, Sherlock," Molly begged while trying to keep the panic out of her voice. "It's very important..."

"Then you say it first!" Sherlock yelled at her with a sudden release of emotions that were forced into silence each time he saw her. Piercing the heavy science, Sherlock's voice was unexpectedly loud and deep. Sherlock saw how taken aback Molly was when she heard him yell. Before, when Molly was brought to Sherlock's lab to pee in a cup he could have yelled at her, but instead he had gripped her shoulder hard and scolded her about throwing away her gift and betraying her friends, but he did not yell. Disgusted with herself, Molly remembered all she could say to him then was some insensitive comment about how he was no longer engaged.

Eurus raised both eyebrows at Sherlock's gall and she, Mycroft, John, and Sherlock all looked at Molly, waiting for her reply. 

Sensing that he had the upper hand for the first time, he said more controlled and stood up straight, "You say it, say it like you mean it."

Molly blinked rapidly and said, "I...I love you." Sherlock held his breath and his brows raised with hopeless desire to believe the words were true. 

Then, she said them againand this time he saw the revelation in her eyes, "...I love you, Sherlock."


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock's shoulders sagged and he released the breath he was holding. His eyes closed and, despite the horrible situation, and so what if she only said it because they were part of some perverse experiment, he never wanted to forget this moment. If he live two more minutes or the rest of his days, Sherlock wanted to be sure the sound of her voice speaking those words to him would echo in his memory. 

Silently, Eurus move and pointed the gun to Sherlock's temple. "Sherlock...please!" Molly urged. The newly surfaced and raw emotions for Sherlock flooded her body and Molly found that she would live the rest of her life begging on her knees to ensure that Sherlock lived. 

When Sherlock opened his yes, the beseeching look on Molly's face tore at his heart. He wanted to embrace her, comfort her, to kiss her, and hold her in his arms so she could feel his heart beating for her. Sherlock took three commanding, slow steps toward Molly and held her eyes with the intensity of his own. 

Unable to help herself, Molly's compulsive deduction process inundated her mind with new data. Sherlock's normally tamed hair was disheveled and tousled. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, giving his emerging stubble a rough and primitive shadow of violence. His assertive posture over Molly rose the heat within her and unfamiliar arousal stalled her observation, breath, and heart. 

Heat radiated from Sherlock's exposed skin, sweat shone and beaded down dirty avenues of his body, and his breath blew soft and warm against her cheek when he spoke. "I love you," Sherlock said with insistent adoration, and the depth of his voice sent tremors through Molly's body.

Eurus catalogued the emotions observed and was unsurprised when Molly's eyes dilated as she ogled at Sherlock's half naked body. "So, Molly," Eurus crassly interjected the silence and Sherlock startled at her sudden appearance, "you have succumb to the weakness of emotional love, but you've not had sex?" She turned her head sharply to Sherlock and grabbed his crotch and he grunted with the impact, "But you," Eurus squeezed and felt his penis harden slightly, "you have." She twisted her fist in Sherlock's groin and he bent as much as his suspended arms would allow.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, they were blurred with pain but he could see that he was at eye level with the gun in Eurus's hand. Eurus let go and he gasped with the relief of pressure. Molly watched immobile as Eurus walked back to the side table, pressed a button, and Sherlock's hands once again rose until his toes swung an inch above the rug. 

"Perhaps the pornographic images you relieve your self to have been sufficient enough for you to resist the temptation and defend your intelligence from physical relationships," Eurus hypothesized out loud and walked up to Sherlock, now pointing the gun at Molly. "This man experiences sexual arousal when looking at you, and vice versa," Eurus narrated her observations with cold scientific precision while she unzipped Sherlock's jeans and crudely exposed his sexual organ. "Can it be possible for a male human specimen to be sexually simulated to completion by someone for which feels hatred, while looking at the one for which he experiences emotional and sexual love? Is hatred more powerful than love and tactile stimulation?"

Eurus's cold fingers wrapped around Sherlock's penis and she moved her hand mechanically over his foreskin. Molly stared into Sherlock's terror-stricken eyes, but it was not only the gun that was pointed at her that kept Molly from intervening in the assault on Sherlock's body, it was the indecent arousal she felt as she stared at Sherlocks helpless body.

<><><><><><>><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> "No!" Sherlock grunted and he flexed his torso in an attempt to pull himself from Eurus's grip but found his muscles protested with depleted energy, and he hung helpless to escape the molestation. As he felt the blood begin to flow into his groin, Sherlock tried to steel his mind against the forced arousal. He closed his eyes tightly against the frightened look on Molly's face and extorted his mind to resist the perversion.

Eurus's maniacal eyes watched Molly intently for data, though she was aware of the British Secret Service men approach as they silently neutralized the thugs that were her protection. "Mycroft! If your men make one more move to interrupt my experiment, I will end it myself in a way you will find most unfavorable!" Eurus yelled and aimed the gun at Molly's head while still pumping Sherlock. 

"Stop!" Mycroft instantly commanded and the room was held in silence, interrupted only by immoral sounds of Eurus's hand on Sherlock's flesh and his weak huffs of defiance that escaped him and forsook his humiliating embarrassment. Molly rose her hands in surrender and they shook with the dread of what she must do in order to end Eurus's heinous experiment. It was true, Molly never had felt the need to engage in intercourse with another person, but she knew the anatomy and process of sexual climax and she had to end this danger as soon as possible. 

Molly saw with each pull on his penis, the exposed tip of his growing erection. "Sherlock," she said gently and took a calculated step forward. Sherlock's eyes flashed open and were glazed with crazed paranoia at the contradiction raging within him. Molly had hoped that Sherlock would be able to figure out her plan if he could just look at her, but those hopes were discarded when she saw the unhinged senselessness that was overwhelming Sherlock's mind. "Look at me, Sherlock," Molly coaxed with a steady voice as if she were talking to him in the lab. 

Having never been able to deny her anything, Sherlock pulled his head forward and looked at her. The hyperventilating gasps of restraint coming from Sherlock's aroused body stirred Molly's own inexperienced arousal, but she continued, "Please, don't suppress it." She took another small step closer, now only feet away from Sherlock and Eurus.

"What!?" Sherlock choked. All of his focus was on saving his dignity and the insanity of her request cause him to waver in his resistance. She was going to have to walk him through, Molly saw that now; he was beyond any thought other than that of his besieged mind and body. "No! No...no. Please, stop!" His head fell back with utter exhaustion. "Molly," Sherlock begged, "Please, don't make me do this..." 

Molly cringed at his words, but pressed on when she saw the of pre-ejaculate shine on the head of his penis. "Don't give up on me now, Sherlock. I need you...I've always loved you," Molly said and her voice cracked with guilt at what she was making him do. Sherlock found the strength to lift his head; the pain of her deception raked his panting voice, "Y-you ha-ha-have no right!" He gritted his teeth against his release and screamed at the ceiling.. While Eurus was engrossed with the completion of her experiment, Molly made her move. She hit the gun skillfully from Eurus's hand, it ending up cleverly in her own, pointing now at Eurus. 

Mycroft, John, and the Secret Service all moved as one: John to support Sherlock's half-conscious body, Mycroft to the controlling mechanism on the table, and the military meant to secure Eurus to the ground. "Interesting outcome," Eurus said loftily as though her recapture was part of the experiment, but she began crying and screaming schizophrenically when the men rushed her out of the building. 

John and Mycroft lowered Sherlock to the ground and recovered his modesty, and Molly watched as Sherlock stared listless and unblinking at the rain battered windows. John moved his hands over Sherlock's unprotesting body, examining him for any hidden injuries. Molly dropped the gun absentmindedly and rage overcame her. She wrenched the lamp off the table and screamed as she dashed it against the chair. The dim light of the afternoon storm illuminated the wooden table pieces as they flew through the air when Molly destroyed it against the ground. 


	6. Chapter 6

Molly silently unlocked the dead bolt to Sherlock's flat and closed the door behind her. It was late and he was unaware she was coming to see him, and probably doubted he would ever talk to her again, given the radio silence since the events days ago. 

Sherlock's interrogation and debriefing was mercifully only the eight hours following their rescue. The extended explanations of a forgotten sister with exceptional brain power, her imprisonment, and escape however, occupied the remaining 28 hours. Yet, it had now been five full days since the incident or since Molly had even talked to Sherlock. 

Standing in the dark entryway, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply the comforting smells of Sherlock's flat. Always the smell of tea--black with a twist of orange, clean laundry, and an earthy muskiness from the abundance of plants he kept in each room. The flutter that had been growing inside Molly surged and she felt the quake of anxiety in her stomach. 

This was it. She would simply tell Sherlock...She would tell him...She did not know what the hell to say to Sherlock. Her thoughts ran undisciplined within her mind, something they had not done in a very long time. Adolescent urges and floods of hormones coerced her brain into fanciful images that strained against her pelvis. Molly took another deep breath and moved quietly into the living room. 

Sherlock's flat was immaculate. For the days following the interrogation and debriefing, he had been stress-cleaning because he was forced to take two weeks off work in order to "recharge and recenter himself," as the government therapist put it.

The dark stained wood floors reflected the warm light coming from the single lamp that lit the dark room. Molly knew Sherlock preferred minimal and soft lighting after working twelve hours under the abrasive fluorescent lights of the morgue. His furniture was a mixture of wooden side tables that were clearly kept for sentiment rather than appearance, an older but well cared for couch, and shelves full of various kinds of house plants and pictures of his family.

Molly stopped in the center of the room, overcome again with how her stubbornness may have cost her everything she had only just confessed she wanted. When Molly opened her eyes, the crushing new realization of her desire for Sherlock changed her perspective of deduction: when she looked at his possessions, she now saw the intimate connections Sherlock had with them. They were his treasures, not silly decorations and a ridiculous hobby of keeping non-native plants indoors. She now saw an old frame that held a juvenile interpretation of a dog, signed "Sherlock" with a blue crayon in a child's penmanship, several pictures of his friends and small family in different stages in their life--though no pictures representing his parents past their mid-fifties, a terrarium of a uniquely shaped rock covered in moss--likely from the misty old farm in some of the pictures on the wall. Molly felt his presence in the room, though she knew he was in the kitchen. 

Using the darkness of the unlit dining area, Molly peered undetected around the corner, looking through the leaves of a plant that hung from the ceiling. The kitchen too was dimly lit, the bulb under the cabinet providing only a small atmosphere of light. She watched as Sherlock stood at the sink, washing up after his small dinner of greek salad and a glass of red wine. Molly took her time watching the stiff movements of his shoulders and back as he rinsed a plate and placed it on the drying rack. Sherlock rested his hands on the edge of the sink and stretched, grunting at the soreness that lingered in his body and the pull on the stitches in his back.

After drying his hands and forearms on a dish towel, Sherlock turned and reached for the bottle of red sitting on the small kitchen island and emptied it into his wine glass. "So," Molly said to herself while Sherlock consumed half the glass in one swig, "not just the usual one glass, then." Sherlock set down the glass, removed his glasses, and roughly scrubbed his face with his hands. The bristles of his unshaven face were starting to itch after not having shaved the last few days and his eyes were tired with lack of sleep. 

He reached again for the wine glass, finished it, set it down on the butcher block countertop next to his glasses and started for the living room. "Shit!" Molly thought as she realized there was no place for her to hide so she flattened herself against the wall, thankful that he left his glasses in the kitchen. Without making a sound, Molly followed his progress through the living room and into his bedroom. Sherlock opened a linen closet, pulled out a fresh towel, tossed it on the bed, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Sutures are not supposed to get wet. A bath is inadvisable," Molly said mater-of-factly as she stepped over the threshold of the bedroom. Whether it was the full bottle of wine he consumed with dinner or the softness in her voice, Sherlock did not startle. With the release of the last button, he turned bravely to face the woman he was trying so desperately to forget. His heart sank with the memory of Molly's shocked face while her sister assaulted him, of the words Molly manipulated out of him. 

Embarrassed by the memory, Sherlock turned back around and stuttered on what to say, "I--You're right." Sherlock picked up his towel and headed for the bathroom, "but I need a wash, so hopefully Dr. Watson didn't put in water soluble sutures."

"Don't make jokes, Sherlock," Sherlock always was a peace keeper, diffusing an uncomfortable situation with a light hearted joke.

He stopped and briefly looked over his shoulder and said dejectedly, "It's a coping mechanism, self preservation, Molly." Still with his back to her, he hung his head, "Can you understand that?"

Moving with strength and stealth, Molly gripped Sherlock's elbow and spun him around, "I understand everything, now." Molly said a breath away from Sherlock's surprised face. "You were right, I have no right to love you. Not when I am the one who chose to deny myself. I kept myself from you, I said cruel and insensitive things to keep you at a distance and out of my mind." She paused, looked at Sherlock's lips, his neck, and the shadow of his pale chest, and for once she encouraged the stirring heat within her. "...My own self preservation, I guess," Molly chuckled sadly at their parallel insecurity. "How can you even stand to be around me?" Molly ended and looked away, disgusted with the memories of Sherlock's unwavering kindness in the face of her insulting manner. 

The wretchedness Sherlock initially felt at her sudden appearance melted away when he heard the pain and remorse in Molly's voice. He reached out and placed one hand on the side of her face, the other inside her jacket and around her waist and drew her body against his own, challenging her aversion for physical contact. Sherlock looked into Molly's eyes and saw her raw emotions, felt her regret and apprehension. For years, he loved her, and he would always love her, no matter how much she pushed against him, how often she defended her loneliness with hallow words, or how long he would have to wait. 

"For so long," Molly whispered, "I've denied myself...I kept myself cold to you. Put up a guard against you." Sherlock's thumb grazed over Molly's cheek and wiped away the single tear that fell. "But I know I was wrong," Molly said and touched Sherlock's temple, moved her fingers through his hair to the back of his neck and pulled him to her, pressing her lips against his. 

He held her body hard against him, like she would be ripped from his arms at any moment. Sherlock moved his hand up and down her body and with his other, he titled her jaw and insisted she open her mouth to him. His tongue danced over Molly's lips and ignited her lust beyond the walls of her self-imposed virginity.

She tried to keep up, but her delight in the knowledge that her inexperience compelled Sherlock into uncharacteristic assertive sensuality slowed her down. Greedily, Sherlock started to work her out of her jacket and in the process, walked her back against a wall. A flash of carnality seized her, and she in turn tore at Sherlock's open shirt. 

Molly felt his large hands holding her backside and he pinned her to the wall with his pelvis. Instinctively, she ground her hips against his growing erection, stimulating her own desire against his hardness. Sherlock moved his hands under Molly's shirt, caressing her torso and the sides of her breasts and she moaned against his lips.

Sherlock stopped, and Molly froze in his arms. They panted against each other and the heat of their breath echoed the fire they felt when their lips were together. In his hands, Sherlock could feel Molly's body trembling and he suddenly pulled away from her, afraid and taken aback by his barbaric and primitive actions. "I'm sorry!" With the distance of the room between them, Sherlock's blurred vision lost the sharpness of Molly's face and he was unable to see her expression. Sherlock held up a hand to her as if begging her not to come closer. 

For a moment, Molly was held motionless by her arousal but the sudden absence of his body holding her up caused her to falter. "You're...you've never--I'm sorry," Sherlock begged again as he leaned against his dresser to catch his breath, but he stopped moving entirely when Molly came closer and the salacious grin on Molly's swollen lips came into focus.

"I never," Molly said breathily, "want you to apologize for doing that to me. I want..." Molly continued closer to Sherlock as she removed her blazer, "I want you to do it again." She took his outstretched hand and placed it around her waist, the heat of his palm drove her crazy. Molly softly kissed his stunned lips, "I've never wanted anyone to touch me like that," Molly toed out of her shoes, "I've never wanted to feel someone's arms around me or their body on mine." She licked her lips, "...I never cared what physical love could be like, but I do now." 

Molly leaned into Sherlock's body and kissed his neck. She whispered, "I want to say 'I love you,' Sherlock, but after what happened, I need you to tell me I can." Molly brought her hands up to cradle Sherlock's face and pleaded, "Tell me that I haven't lost you."

The flush on Molly's cheeks seemed to glow in the light of her aqua-marine eyes. "There is nothing you could ever do or say that would stop me loving you, Molly. Tell me you feel the same?" Sherlock said and he kissed her devotedly, this time, allowing Molly to guide the kiss where she may. He could tell she was eager to explore what sensations she would like, and he was happy to help inspire her. Molly grinned against his lips when she felt him entrust himself to her novice sexuality. 

"I love you, Molly," Sherlock said looking into the dilated depths of her eyes. Molly tilted Sherlock's head, deepened the kiss, and entered his mouth. Shy at first, Molly caressed Sherlock's mouth with inquisitive strokes that shot waves of arousal into his groin and Sherlock held Molly tighter to his body. He hummed his approval against her and the deep sound of his arousal flooded her with the desire to do anything she could that would cause him to make that sound again. Molly stroked him again but this time she moved her lips slowly over Sherlock's lips and finished the kiss by sucking on his bottom lip. 

Molly pulled back, leaving Sherlock dazed and floored by her intuition. She stepped back from him and he recognized the hunger in her eyes. Obligingly, he stayed still while she drank him in. The scruff on his face was rough and gave him a primal look of survival. His six foot frame was lean, slightly dehydrated given how taut skin was against the muscles of his body, and the waves of his dark hair were tousled and disheveled. Molly noted the auburn undertone of his whiskers and saw it too in the short dark hairs on his chest and lower abdomen. 

Unlike how Eurus examined his body, Molly's eyes shone with want and arousal as she moved her hand lightly over his skin. Goosebumps covered his body when she traced around his collar bone and up his neck, and Sherlock watched Molly grin as though she had just discovered new evidence for a case. Quickly, Molly began searching for another erogenous zone that would reflexively arouse Sherlock. In no time at all she found when she raked her fingernails next to his hairline, and also when she repeated the action over his hip just above the waist of his jeans, his breath shuddered and the strain beneath his pants became obvious. 

"Molly..." Sherlock said in a raspy voice as she unbuckled his belt and slid the rest of his cloths down off his hips. He steadied himself against the dresser, palms flat and sweaty on the polished surface. Instead of feeling shy, as he would have under the scrutinizing gaze of anyone else, the way Molly stared at his semi-engorged member made him feel naturally powerful, unembarrassed, and eager to give more of himself. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Molly was well versed in dominating a conversation, but this was another level of authority and command. Sherlock was a willing participant to her manipulation, and he was clearly experiencing the same level of enjoyment with the interaction as she was. Flushed and perspiring beneath her blouse, Molly started to efficiently unbutton her collared shirt.

"No!" Sherlock said urgently and Molly looked up, crestfallen. "I mean," he followed up quickly, "I want you, Molly." Sherlock wiped the sweat from his temple, "I've wanted you for so long, and you--you..." and Molly smiled endearingly when he stuttered on the topic, knowing his mind was on fire with how extremely erotic it would be to take the virginity of the possessor and abuser of superior intelligence, London's Consulting Detective, The Celibate (as Mycroft calls her). 

"--You've never been with anyone," Sherlock said a little more steadily as he gained control over his heart rate. "If you want your first time--" he said seriously, but his groin twitched with impatience at the thought, "your--your first time to last longer than a minute, we have to slow down." Stepping out of his pants that had fallen around his feet, Sherlock reached for the third button of Molly's posh shirt, the top two having been left undone: true to her signature look.

Sherlock could not count the number of times he had imagined this in his dreams, the amount of hours he spent daydreaming of undressing her in the lab, at Baker Street in her sitting room, in the very spot they were now. Molly looked down and saw Sherlock's hands were steady and his fingers nimbly flicked open each button, exposing the smooth black bralett that held her breasts in a practical and comfortable way. 

Molly understood that it was now Sherlock's turn to revel in the long awaited reciprocation of disallowed desire. After making him wait so long, Molly was happy to grant him all the time he wanted. Sherlock pushed the fabric off of Molly's shoulders and he memorized the shadow of her collarbone and the rise and fall of her slight cleavage when she breathed. Sherlock gripped Molly's hips and firmly moved his hands up her thin torso until his fingers found the clasp behind her back. He let his fingertips linger along her arms as he pushed the straps off Molly's shoulders, and when the heat of his palms covered her nipples Molly let out a small breath. 

Molly never saw the appeal of stimulating her breasts, but when Sherlock gave each nipple a cheeky twist and pull before proceeding to slide off her dress pants, she felt the walls of her sex echo with the distant waves of climax. "Ahh..." Molly sighed erotically and with understanding, almost as she did when hit with an epiphany. Sherlock knew, based on the soft surprise in her voice, that must have been the first time someone had stimulated her in that way, and with anxious thrill, he knew also that he would make her moan like that with each new sensation he revealed to her tonight. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Molly stood bare before him: her proud posture held her breasts poised, her naturally toned body celebrated her aristocratic genes that boasted of elegance and power, and her porcelain skin contrasted masterfully with her well-kept, dark pubic hair. 

Moly was used to being the center of attention and was never ashamed of her nakedness, seeing her body only as transport and anatomically sound. But the ravenous way Sherlock's eyes traced her body made her feel...sexy, and proud to be responsible for the species's primal act of copulation. 

"Lie down on the bed, Sherlock," Molly whispered but her words were confident. Sherlock obeyed without hesitation, consenting to give her command of the situation for now. He lay back on the two large pillows propped up against the headboard so he sat at an incline, able to look down at their bodies beside one another. Molly lay comfortably on her side, propped up on her elbow and the other pillows, the weight of her breast accentuated her cleavage, driving Sherlock mad with the desire to cup and tease them once more. He refrained, however. This was Molly's first time exploring a male figure with desire for sexual stimulation rather than for a case or experiment, and he almost shook with the anticipation. 

Deductions flooded her mind as she studied his body . The flat muscles of his torso were unblemished without scars of trauma, as hers was. The perspiration now shining on his chest, the increased respiratory rate, and the flush that colored his rigid sex organ were all clear signs of sexual arousal. Instead of the feeling of intellectual prowess her accurate observations usually gave her, Molly's deductions served only to fuel her own sexual arousal. 

"I could look at your beautiful body until I died of thirst," Molly said in amazement at the intense arousal that blossomed inside caused only by the sight of his naked and willing form. She of course had knowledge of how the male sex organ responded to friction and was eager to hear those pleasurable sounds come from Sherlock's lips once again. 

Molly reached out, but stopped, remembering her vicious sister vulgarly stimulating Sherlock to a tortuous finish. 

"It's ok, Molly," Sherlock said breathily anticipating her contact, "I want you to touch me." He stammered when Molly touched the tip of his penis with her fingertips and traced them down the shaft of him, "You can...do any--ah, anything you want." Sherlock's head dropped back on the pillow when she cupped his taut scrotum. "Uh-hmm..." Sherlock pressed his lips together sighed with pleasure and Molly delightedly enjoyed the control she had over Sherlock's arousal. 

"I want to hear that sound coming from you anytime I want," Molly said surprising Sherlock with the finality in her tone.

Molly used the heat of her palm to rub the tip of his penis like she was learning he liked. "Ah! Hm!" Sherlock was taken off guard by her quick knowledge of his preferences. He looked down to watch her hand move in slick circles over the head of him and her breasts shimmied and swayed erotically with the motion. "My god, Molly," Sherlock said, his voice hoarse and deeper than normal. "Mmm...Molly..." Sherlock struggled, "Please, s--slow down."

Sherlock took Molly's hand and pulled her on top of him so that she straddled his hips. When she leaned forward to support her weight, the damp heat of her cleft pressed his erection flat against his abdomen and almost sent him over the edge. Quickly, he grabbed her hips before she could moved them and panted deeply to calm himself. 

Instinctively, Molly ran her fingers through his hair and allowed her finger nails to gently graze against his sweaty scalp. "Shh..." She kissed the corner of his mouth, "You're right," she kissed the stubble along his jaw line, "Slowly..." But her own urgency was impatient and she only allowed Sherlock thirty seconds before the heat of his length compelled her to move.

Slowly, as she promised, Molly used the moisture from her arousal to rub her clitoris back and forth over the ridge of Sherlock's penis. With each pass, pulsing electricity shocked her desire and unmercifully Sherlock began to move her hips so the strokes became longer. Molly fisted her hand in Sherlock's damp hair and kissed him fiercely when she felt, for the first time, the primal need for a male of her species to possess her. 

Ending the bruising kiss, Molly leaned back and crazed carnality flushed her mind and quickened her pace over Sherlock below her. He was breathless and his normally altruistic and friendly eyes were reckless and dark with desire. She moved hard against him, becoming more and more out of control. In his hands, Sherlock felt Molly shift her hips back further and knew her intentions. He could tell her unexperienced and delirious lust was ill advisably coercing her force him into her, virginity be damned.

Molly leaned back, reached down, and grabbed Sherlock possessively and positioned him at her entrance. Sherlock painfully seized Molly's hips and held her immobile over the head of his erection. "Molly, No!" he exclaimed and her intoxicated and glazed eyes savagely met his own. "The first time," he hurriedly explained because the deranged look she gave him told him he had only seconds to explain himself before she devoured him, "It--it can be painful, I don't want to hurt you!"

The worry in his voice grounded her somewhat and she let out a harsh sigh as his words slowly made sense. Sherlock cautiously reached up to her, pulled her on top of his chest, and held her tight as they caught their breath; Sherlock gently soothed her back, lightly tracing his fingers up and down her body, settling his palms on the side of her narrow hips. 

Sherlock reached down between them, took himself in hand and positioned her entrance just above his reaching desire. Slowly, Sherlock allowed Molly to lower onto him. The incredible heat they felt was beyond what either of them had ever felt. Gasping in unison, they looked into each other's wild eyes until Sherlock was fully seated inside. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Molly closed her eyes against the pain of her stretching walls as he moved deeper into her, but she moaned with pleasure and the feeling of total completeness of body. The head of his penis was pressed firmly inside her when she heard him lovingly ask, "Are you okay?" His breathless ecstasy made his voice tremble in her ears. Sherlock dipped his head and delicately kissed her neck and Molly's breath came in short gasps. "I will not move in you until you tell me," Sherlock reached up a hand and pulled her hair back in his fingers, held the side of her face, and looked into her eyes, "Is this ok?" 

"Yes, Sherlock," Molly whispered pleadingly against his lips before she kissed him. Sherlock moved his hand on Molly's hip down to hold her bottom and he pulled her upward with his arms, rising her halfway up his shaft and he thrust slowly back into her while allowing her to join him on the decent. Her position over him gave her control over how deep within her he could go, and after a few more paces, she picked up on his rhythm and it felt as though her body was singing. 

Deeper and deeper she took him until all she wanted was lose herself within him. Molly looked down, Sherlock was grunting, sweating, barley breathing: he was waiting for her. "Harder," Molly growled and ground on top of Sherlock until he took her meaning. 

Sherlock hugged her body and held her fast against himself with one arm while he moved over her, never losing their intimate contact. Molly arched her back as he rutted into her, gasping when Sherlock possessively grabbed her breast and twisted the nipple hard. He let out an involuntary pant when he felt her walls clench on him. He drove into her faster and fisted her breast to stabilize himself, "Yes...yes, Sherlock," Molly choked and cried out in her euphoric climax.

Her body seized on him again and again and with a final thrust, Sherlock found his heaven.


	7. Epilogue

It was two in the morning when thirst woke Sherlock, but the memory of his dream coming true kept his eyes closed tightly against reality. He cautiously reached a hand out searching for Molly's body, but his fingers found only the cool softness of his cotton sheets and his heart sank. 

"There is a fresh glass for you on the night-stand," Molly said as though she was pointing out a clean beaker in the lab. Sherlock startled back against the headboard and the sheet was pulled off his hips. His nakedness shocked him into the certainty of the evening's events, and he quickly grabbed the sheet over himself despite the near darkness. 

Molly was standing in front of the pale light of the window, the collar of her long Belstaff jacket was turned up as if ready to defend against the rain that was now falling. 

Sherlock knew the feeling of foolishly falling fast for a woman: it had almost gotten him married. He was desperate, alone and Taylor filled the void for a time, but her simple kindness, her overly innocent understanding, and simplicity increasingly drew a stark contrast to what he truly wanted--Molly Hooper.

His heart now however, was not a foolish thing falling for an easy landing. All of his being and capacity for love had leapt into her ocean, and he would willingly drown every time he thought of this night. And here she was, standing in his dark bedroom, ready to leave their one-night affair in the past and his heart invariably alone.

The realization he would forever be committed to her sank his world into darkness. The damage was done. After tonight he knew; never would his heart let him move on from the woman that would never love him back, the woman with whom he lived out his dream, the one woman he would love eternally. Sherlock's heart broke and he felt it crumble at her feet with each thundering beat of his heart.

Sherlock released the breath he was holding and shuddered, "...What have I done...?" Molly turned and saw his eyes vacantly scanning the room. Sherlock raised his hands, fisted his hair, and held his head straight. Finally, his defeated gaze found her eyes and when she quirked the corner of her mouth into a sly grin, Sherlock's heart felt as though it had stopped beating. 

"I was so sure," Molly said gently so as not to completely undo the poor man, "in my reasons." Looking out the window now, Molly put her shaking hands in the deep pockets of the heavy jacket and spoke to the growing storm outside. "I thought I'd made myself immune to the greatest weakness of mankind. But you've exposed me as a fraud, Sherlock." Molly chuckled weakly, closed her eyes and hung her head. "I, who was the biggest denier of love, have become its greatest conquest." 

With her confession came a rumbling craving for Sherlock's body against her own and Molly let out a soft sigh of pleasure as she felt the addiction and sensation of desire electrify her body. "Nobody was ever abel to describe to me that this is how it feels." Love for Sherlock's spirit, joy for their future, fear for the potential looming tragedy of losing him, and lust for the pleasure of his body all flashed in her mind, becoming too much for her to hold back.

When Molly turned, it was into Sherlock's arms. He held her tight as she let out a sob of relief to have his body against her once more. Reaching a level of emotional intelligence matching all of her other accolades of brilliance, Molly was so overwhelmed by the enlightenment that her knees gave way.

Sherlock bent and scooped her trembling body into his arms and he carried her back to the bed. As he lay her against the pillows, her jacket fell open to reveal her naked body beneath. 

"A moment ago," Sherlock whispered and traced his fingers over her flat abdomen, "I thought you were leaving me...and my body went cold," Molly looked down to see goosebumps ghost Sherlock's forearm and just as his finger tips circled her breast, she felt his burning contradiction hard against her thigh. "Say it," he kissed the tender flesh on the side of her breast. "'I love you,'" he kissed the bounding pulse in her neck. "Say it again," he pulled back to look into her eyes and he smiled. Delighting in the jovial and boyish arch of his lips, Molly allowed his happiness to infect her. She beamed at him as he had never seen her smile before. 

Molly held the sides of Sherlock's face and whispered against his lips while looking into his translucent gray eyes, "I love you." 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The white, shear curtains pulled closed against the morning sun did little to shield the room from the coming of the day. Thin beams of light shone into the bedroom, creating a soft glow. Molly grumbled, fisted the corner of cotton sheets and rolled over onto feather down pillows, grumbling to herself as the angle of the sun told her her it was far too early to get out of bed.

"Cotton!?" Molly's sleepy mind interjected. "My sheets are linen--" Molly flashed open her eyes. She took a deep breath and the overwhelming scent of Sherlock's body made her let out a small involuntary moan. The gray, oversized feather duvet and the glow of the direct sun coming in from the east window, --"I don't HAVE an east facing window!"--created the illusion she had awoken in the sky. She leapt from the perfect warmth of Sherlock's bed and pulled the feather light sheet around her naked body. 

Molly backed against the wall, stared at the empty bed, and marveled at the new power possessing her body, straining and yearning with an insatiable need for Sherlock. Soft upbeat music was coming from the kitchen and without warning, Sherlock came into the bedroom and stopped in the doorway holding a small tray. A quick sniff of the air and Molly deduced instantly he had made black tea with a half teaspoon of sugar, a splash of milk and a twirl of an orange rind, buttered toast with a cup of fresh fruit, and for her coffee, black, two sugars.

"What have you done to me?" Molly asked with an adorable panic in her shocked voice. Before Sherlock could answer she persisted and gestured at him with a bare arm, "Look at you!"

Sherlock looked down; he was wearing an old university sweatshirt, pajama bottoms, and no shoes--nothing special, "Surely nothing offensive," Sherlock thought. But Molly saw her future, her life in his form suddenly standing before her. 

"I think you are beginning to understand..." Sherlock said with a knowing smile. He set the tray on the bed and approached her with his palms open as if a taming a wild animal. "...what the rest of humanity already enjoys." He kissed her softly and she melted into his embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!


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